


Sunshine Washes Away.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Young Love, Youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 04:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Charles has never been kissed. Pierre can help him change that.





	Sunshine Washes Away.

**Author's Note:**

> I am waiting for FP1 to start (it starts at 1:55AM my time) so here you go.

**October 16th, 2009**

_______________________

 

          Pierre is seated at the foot of Charles’s bed with a video game controller in his hands. He is actually tremendously losing the game and it is perhaps because he isn’t quite paying attention to it.

          “You are playing terribly,” Charles chides bluntly, chuckling and bumping him in the shoulder with his elbow.

          Pierre frowns, “I am trying.” _This is a lie_ , he is actually pondering over something that doesn't concern what is on the screen.

          “No, you’re not, you are distracted,” Charles sets down his controller on his comforter and crawls over to the tv on his desk. His finger presses on the button and the screen suddenly turns pitch black. Pierre is still sitting cross legged in front of the bed on the floor when Charles slides against the board next to him and splays out his legs. He turns to him and there is a little moment of silence as Pierre hangs his head in between his elbows, propped up on his knees. “What is going on with you? You are never this quiet,” and it is the truth.

          He hesitates a moment, considers his words before speaking (which is not something that he does often). Maman comes to mind, _remember, Pierre, collect your thoughts because you tend to speak too fast_. He breathes out a sigh and Charles is on his side. He is so close that he can hear the beats of his exhales as they tumble in little waves from his lungs.

          “I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he manages because it is the first thing that comes to mind.

          Charles raises a brow, “That is what you are freaking out over? You’re thirteen, you have a while.”

          Pierre shakes his head, “It’s not just that.”

          Charles is still confused, “Then what is it?”

 _Maybe I don’t really know myself_.

          “What if I don’t end up with a girl?”, his hands are quivering just a little bit and his mouth is dry.

          “You mean what if you end up with… a boy?”, Pierre stiffens slightly as if the full magnitude of this has only now hit him. But it is the reticence, the one where he can’t piece together his cognition and his mind is empty. “Is this your way or telling me you’re gay?”, Charles questions point blank and it sweeps Pierre off his feet enough that he shoots his gaze immediately in his direction. “I don’t have a problem with it, if you are,” Charles rubs the back of his neck and swallows.

          “No!”, Pierre raises his voice and the corner of Charles’s eye flinches in reaction. “Sorry, no--I’m not… I’m not gay.” _I don't really know who I am_. “I like girls,” he manages and he feels his face suddenly warm. “I just… I wouldn’t mind if I was with a…”, and he diverts his attention to his bare feet as his toes dig into the padding of carpet.

          “A boy,” Charles slowly corroborates, allowing the lyrics to taste him for a moment. There is a occasion of clarity again, but it’s comfortable and filled with the odd sense of peace. “I understand,” he stands up, towers over him for a minute until shooting out his hand towards him. Pierre peers up, his eyes scope over from their wrist to their shoulder, up to his face. “Let’s go outside, it will help clear your thoughts,” and it makes Pierre grab for his hand, lace his fingers through his. A strange, microscopic weight has been lifted from his chest and it spreads throughout all his skin.

 

___________________________

 

          They come down the stairs and Charles’s mom tells them to be back before sunset. There is the scent of baking in the air, sugar and flour all meddling in the home. They grab the bikes from the garage, Charles takes his and Pierre grabs Lorenzo’s. Their tires crunch on the gravel as they skid into the street. The pavement is littered with miles of colored leaves, the trees bare and open to the crystal autumn sky. There is an embracing frigid chill, no wind and the crackle of twigs beneath him. Pierre enjoys this, his bare ankles chilled and his skin bare and open to the twilight air. The wind rustles through his hair, brushes over the nape of his neck and his fingers are frozen stiff to the handlebars.

          Charles slows next to him, he was always faster than him at this. “It’s only a few minutes away,” he gasps and points vaguely in a direction. Pierre hums and puffs out a tired breath. “You are slow,” he teases, slowing once again to ride alongside him. "Getting older?"

          Pierre frowns, “Thank you very much, Charles, I totally couldn’t see that for myself.” Grumpily, he squints his eyes. “How about we take this on foot because I am taller and faster than you that way,” he simpers, “I don’t need silly machinery to help me.” He winks comically, “All natural speed from me, Charlito.”

          “I hate you,” he shakes his head.

          “No, you don’t.”

          “Are you so sure?”

          Charles pushes in front of him up the hill and Pierre has only noticed now that the cold has turned his cheeks a bright crimson. Rouge under the slow of a clear sky, cradling the ice in his eyes. Pierre flushes and snaps his attention away, attempting to keep the corner of his eye off of him. “How about you race me?”, he proposes.

          Charles scoffs, his long chestnut hair teases up over his cheeks. “In cycling? You’re going to lose and you know it,” he smiles and shifts gears as the top of the hill nears them.

          “Race you!”, Pierre announces loudly, taking his hand off of the break.

          “You’re cheating!” and he can vaguely hear him swearing, cursing at him, and his name, from behind as he flies ahead down the dirt path with branches slapping against his face and adventure in his bones.

 

__________________________

 

          Even with the headstart, Charles still beats him and wins. Pierre dismounts and places his hands on his knees, tries to re-gather his breath.

          “How the hell did you do that?”, he manages in between gulps.

          Charles laughs, tosses his head back and his neck is open, vulnerable. “All natural speed, Pear.”

          Pierre slugs him in the shoulder with a smirk and the atmosphere has grown significantly colder, darker since they left the house. “Where exactly are we going?”, he inquires as they ditch the bikes and Charles is leading the way up an overgrown mountain path.

          At a rocky, hill stoop, he reaches out to grasp at a stone, pulls himself upwards. “Nobody comes up here anymore,” he places his foot on the ledge and begins to heave himself up. “It’s a surprise,” and he glances down at Pierre who is struggling to clasp at just the right mantlepiece.

          “Some surprise…”, he mutters. Charles is at the top, gesturing at where he should impress his grasp or his footing. Near the ledge, he grips at his arm and tugs him all the way up.

          Charles groans afterwards, “You’ve gotten fatter since I last saw you.” He growls and Pierre sucks in a breath, rolling onto his back in the grass and dirt.

          “That was only a week ago, you asshole,” he flexes just for show, “Only muscle, you’re a pack of bones.”

          Charles is unimpressed, “My bony ass just beat you on a bike and pulled you up a cliff.”

          “Understood,” he consigns himself to this and sits up, leans on his elbows before propping up. “How do you know about this place?”

          “Julio took me here once, I come here sometimes,” he nodded, "It's private."

          “What are we doing here?”, he wonders and Charles is still, motionless beside him with his feet dangling over the edge of rock. It isn’t a far drop, maybe five meters at the most but it would be a nasty pain to the ankles. Before he can manage another sentence, Charles inclines quickly over and presses his finger over the line of his lips.

          “Just watch,” he whispers. Their thighs are touching, hands merely inches apart in the soil. He shuts his mouth and Charles’s finger moves away, his head folding towards the lining of trees in the distance that cut over the valley and horizon. A sea of colors melt over the scene. He quiets his breathing, nudges closer to him as if to say:

 _Okay_ , _I trust you_.

          The sunset drops itself, a marigold bulb of light in the heavens that is raining down, shading all of the leaves in magnificent hues. Pierre’s inhales exit his lungs at the view and he swears the forest was on fire then. For a moment, he shifts his attention, moves it inches over and notices Charles is studying him from the corner of his eye. Dots of sunshine ignite all of his features: the arch of his nose and the soft kindness in his eyes. He crawls his fingers and suddenly their fingertips brush together over the rocks. It was probably nothing but it felt like the world. He has to bite his tongue to contain himself. A little gush of wind arrives, blows over their hair and Pierre has a thought:

 _This is everything to me. God, this is everything_.

          He could stay here with just the elements and them. He feels then that is it all he really needs. Peach dots of shine, tangerine, dandelions and the scent of hope, they all mingle delicately about them; in the air that leaves his lungs and the wind across the palms of his open hands.

          “I’ve never been kissed,” Charles notes, breaking the stillness and Pierre points his head towards him. He puts his head down, perhaps a little embarrassed.

 _I will kiss you, I will do it, do you want me to because I could always_ \--and he stops himself, recollects for a moment and gathers his thoughts. “Does it matter?”, is all he said (and his heart was quite reluctant at those words but his mind chose that it was the smarter path).

          Charles fiddles with the frayed edges of his jeans, “What if I get to _that_ time and I screw up? I don’t even know what I am supposed to do.”

          “Do you want me to show you?”, Pierre unexpectedly blurts out. _Uh oh, Pierre, you didn't think did you?_

          Charles meets his eyes, wide, “What?”

          His heart picks up the pace, trembles in his ribs and it is too late to back out now. “Do you want me to show you?”, he repeats only now going much slower and with more confident.

          “But you don’t even know either!”, he stabs his fingers into his side with a giggle.

          Pierre shrugs, “Then we’ll both be better at it in the end.” Charles’s smile lowers and his eyes flicker for a second from his eyes to his lips, back and forth and forth and back as though teasing the idea in his brain. Pierre crosses his legs, scootches to him until he is facing him full on. “Here,” he grabs softly at their hands, places them on the sides of his stomach just above his hips, “Put your hands here.” Their fingers are frozen, so much so that he can sense them through the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’ll put mine here,” and he depresses them onto his shoulders.

          Charles’s eyes are a little broad, almost with anticipation instead of fear or embarrassment. “What do I do?”, he whispered in a way that was nearly carried off by the wind.

 _I don’t know_. “Just close your eyes,” he replies reassuringly, rubbing the pads of his fingers into the sheath of his upper back. “Picture what makes you the happiest, something like that,” he mutters.

 _I’ll be thinking of you_. Secretly, he is terrified.

          Charles shuts his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering over his pale cheeks. The sunlight is still washing in pale waves over their skin, the warmth and glow of the scenery fulfills him. They have a small smile on their lips. It is quick the first time, when he leans over and pecks his lips against his. He can taste the joy on his tongue. Charles stumbles back a bit and Pierre reaches out a hand to his wrist to grab and make sure he didn’t end up toppling over the cliff. _Your mother will kill me if you die_. They nictitate enduringly for a moment, take a hand off of his side and touch it lightly to their lips.

          Pierre’s stomach is still coiled and wound up, “Was that--”

          “Do it again,” Charles interrupts, leaning in closer eagerly, “Please.”

          “Was I that good?”, he jokes with another smirk before nodding and shifting his hands to place one on the back of his neck. He twists his fingers through his locks and tugs his head closer towards him. The second time it’s much slower, he takes his time brushing over his lips, and Charles parts his mouth just a little wider. Their finger knot up in his shirt, tug him closer until their chests are touching as though he were a raft in a storm. He gathers up their soul in the palms of his hands, cradles it from the wind and storms. It reminds him how electric life is, just how much each moment is worth melting for. The instant that he draws away, stares back into his eyes on a face so flushed and perfect, he knew, he knew and he knew:

 _I will follow you to the end of the earth_.

          “Happy twelfth birthday, Charles.”

          And their smile then was, perhaps, one of the greatest things he’d ever seen.

          Charles dusts off his hands, untangles himself from him and Pierre suddenly feels just a little colder still sitting there in the dust and the luminous just a sliver disappearing behind the mountain range. “My mom is going to be worried,” he starts back down the rocks, kicking up pebbles as he goes away. Pierre pauses before following him and his mind is spinning.

 

__________________________

 

 

          The entire bike ride home reflections are floating in his skull (mostly what he should say next). He takes after Maman’s advice.

_That was nice (no we aren’t talking about a piece of food)._

_That was incredible (well it wasn’t winning a Formula 1 race, was it? Nope, just a kiss)._

_Did you enjoy it? (Wait, but what if he didn’t? Do I honestly wish to know that?)._

          He curses himself as he observes Charles’s back from behind him. At the front gate, Charles opens it and they wheel the bikes into the garage. He is stacking it up in the corner and is about to head out of the entrance when Charles reaches out and clasps his grip over his wrist and tugs him back.

          “Pierre, wait--”

          Pierre loops back around and they are standing in front of him, still holding on his wrist with intention. “Yeah?”

          “That was nice,” Charles nods his head.  _See: I should’ve said that first._ "The kiss," he clears his throat, "It was nice."

          “It was… nice,” Pierre confirms.

          “I guess I only wanted to say thank you,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

          Pierre waves his hand. “You don’t have to say that,” he assures.

          “It was a nice thing for a friend to do.”

          Pierre freezes for a second. _Friend_. A weak grin meets his lips, “Of course. Anything for you, Charles.”

          He stands there for a minute feeling his brain whirl and his guts tumble as Charles trods up the porch steps. Lorenzo and Jules are waiting for them in the doorway.

          “Where have you two been?”, Lorenzo asks crossly, leading them both into the dining room. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”

          Charles passes Pierre a nervous look with a nibble to his lower lip. Pierre cuts in, “Oh, nothing,” he says innocently, “Nothing at all.”

          Jules snorts and ruffles up Charles’s hair. “You both are liars.”

 

__________________________

 

          After the celebration, Pierre crawls into the other side of their bed feeling fat, full and absent minded. Charles’s eyes are barely kept open, fluttering in and out as his face nestles into the pillow.

          “Thanks for having me,” Pierre mutters, he feels drowsy now.

          “Always,” Charles eyes are already shut and in less than a minute he doesn’t move any longer.

          Pierre repeats this softly: _always_. He wishes to brush the hair out of their eyes. _Friends_ , it is another word he also repeats. He sets his hand down at his side and rolls away to face the wall. _Maybe it is for the best_ , he lies to himself, _because always and forever seem too short of a time to be with them_. He can still taste the sunshine on his lips as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't very good, sorry. As per usual, I love comments, they give me more motivation to write. I read and respond to every single one. My tumblr is @sonofhistory or @pieregasly


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